


Just This Once

by GingerAle3



Series: TMA Hurt/Comfort Week [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Self-Worth Issues, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Sickfic, The Apocalypse is Cancelled, it isn't really addressed here but still, jonah just buggered off and left them alone, martin's mother is mentioned and is still Not Nice, nothing major just a cold, yeah i know that was a previous prompt but it crept in too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26129740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerAle3/pseuds/GingerAle3
Summary: Martin gets sick and doesn't know how to be taken care of.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: TMA Hurt/Comfort Week [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893973
Comments: 7
Kudos: 147





	Just This Once

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the TMA Hurt/Comfort Week on tumblr (themagnuswriters)
> 
> 26/8 - Wednesday  
> Sickfic
> 
> *me publishing this at almost midnight* MADE IT

It started with a rain storm. They weren’t exactly rare around the safehouse, it was up in Scotland after all, but generally it was easy to tell ahead of time when it was going to really tip it down. When he was heading out for a walk so that Jon could read a statement or two, Martin could glance out the window and tell whether he’d need to bring a coat or umbrella, or if he’d be fine in just one of his jumpers. On this particular morning, there was a strong wind blowing but the sky was a bright, clear blue, so as he waved goodbye to Jon his umbrella stayed leaning by the door and his raincoat stayed firmly on its hook.

At first, it was honestly quite a nice walk. Not many cows around, sadly, but the wind was bracing and after so long living in London, the novelty of being surrounded by so much green still hadn’t quite worn off. Usually he would spend an hour or two walking, give Jon the time to comfortably get through two or three statements without feeling the need to rush, and then some time to wind down before Martin got back. It was an unspoken arrangement, but one that worked well for both of them, Jon still got to feed on a regular basis, and Martin was able to escape from constantly being brought face-to-face with supernatural trauma from various strangers being channeled through his boyfriend, while also getting to look at plenty of very good cows. It was a win-win situation.

Martin walked for what must have been half an hour or so when he felt the first fat raindrop land on his nose, knocking him out of his thoughts unceremoniously and not particularly pleasantly. Looking up, he couldn’t help but grimace at the thick, roiling clouds slowly blotting out the sky above him. These weren’t the sorts of clouds that produced a light drizzle, or even a quick shower. They were a dark, thunderous grey, and seemed to go on for miles. Wonderful.

Briefly, he considered going back to the safehouse for an umbrella or at least his coat, but he wrote off the thought almost as soon as it popped into his mind. Jon would still be vomiting his horrors by the time he made it back to the house, and in fact by that point he’d be fully embroiled in whatever selection of terrors Basira had sent along. Martin knew he’d always preferred privacy while he was reading out statements, didn’t really want people overhearing and frankly, Martin didn’t particularly want to overhear either.

Mostly though, he didn’t want to make Jon feel like he had to stop. He was reluctant to let Martin make himself scarce in anything more than a light drizzle, and if Martin walked in (most likely already soaked through by that point) to pick up something to keep him dryer, there was an extremely high chance that Jon would drag him in with his tempting offers of mugs of tea and cuddles on the sofa. As much as the idea was tempting even without Jon being right there in front of him looking at him with soft eyes and asking him to stay (in spite of several beings’ best efforts, Martin was only human), he knew Jon needed to feed right now. Basira’s most recent packet of statements had taken longer to arrive than they’d been banking on, and as much as Jon had tried to hide it, it was obvious that the hunger had been getting to him. No, Martin had handled months of manipulation and isolation from a physical embodiment of cold fog and loneliness for Jon’s sake, he could handle a little bit of rain thank you very much.

A crash of thunder resounded above him, as if in defiance, and Martin glared back.

-

When he got back to the safehouse, having extended his walk by half an hour more than usual out of pure spite, Jon was pacing in front of the lit fireplace and anxiously chewing at the nail of his right thumb. Apparently, snapping out of a fear-feeding session to find that your boyfriend is out in a horrible storm with no coat, umbrella or phone signal half an hour after he’s meant to be back is somewhat stressful. Martin did feel bad about that, but the healthy glow Jon had and the way his eyes already looked less sunken were more than worth it in his books.

Jon heaved a sigh and kissed him lightly on the cheek, lingering for a moment after and murmuring a soft ‘thank you’. The moment was abruptly broken when he pulled back, seeming to drag all his indignant frustration back around him like a suit of armour and ordered Martin to go upstairs and change out of his wet things. Not needing to be told twice, he made his way to the stairs. Halfway up though, he was stopped by an odd hitch in his own breathing, a tickle in his nose. It grew more intense, greater and greater until-

“AH-CHOO!”

Martin supposed that’s what happened when you tried to spite the weather itself.

-

Over the course of the evening and through the night, his condition only grew worse. What had started as a few sneezes had grown into a full-blown cold, complete with a slight fever, a sore throat and a nasty cough. It was hardly the first time he’d had such illnesses and it would hardly be the last. Everyone got sick sometimes (did avatars get sick? He’d have to ask Jon later), and if their lives ground to a halt every time they did, how would anything ever get done?

At least, that was what he had tried to explain to Jon as the smaller man was stubbornly herding him back into bed for the third time that day.

“Absolutely not. You’re sick, which means you are going to rest and recover. I can take care of things for a few days.” At this point, Jon had both hands between his shoulder blades, and while he wasn’t exactly pushing hard, he was forcefully guiding him back into the bedroom.

“But Jon-”

“No buts.” At this point, they’d reached the bed and with a grumble and an expression that was definitely not a pout, Martin climbed back into the cozy cocoon of blankets Jon had turned it into when he’d mentioned he was cold. Jon gave a satisfied nod, leaning down to press the back of his hand against his forehead with a considering hum. “You’re still a little warm, but not worryingly so. The best thing for you to do right now is drink plenty of fluids and get plenty of rest.” The serious, focused expression on his face fell away, softening into something almost painfully fond as the hand on his forehead moved to brush some of his curls out of his face, lingering against his cheek. Martin fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze, not quite able to meet his eye as the feeling that this whole situation was backwards crept through his mind.

“It’s just-” How was he supposed to explain it? How was he supposed to phrase an entire lifetime of having to be the reliable one? How was he supposed to make Jon understand a childhood of running and fetching and quietly following the rules in the hopes that it would make his mother stop treating him like he was worthless? An adolescence of losing half of his friends to his own busy schedule caring for her, and being treated just as badly by the other half because he didn’t know how to stand up for himself? It had even continued into his adulthood and working life, making tea, checking if people were alright, always being calm, and nice, and reasonable because that was what he did, that was his place in life. How did he make Jon understand that letting someone else be the caretaker for once was, frankly, terrifying?

As he stumbled over his words, false starts and fragments of sentences, a look of realisation slowly spread over Jon’s face, along with just a touch of sadness in his eyes. Martin wasn’t sure if he knew or if he Knew what Martin was trying to say, but in that moment the relief of being understood overwhelmed his discomfort with the concept of being Known.

The hand on his cheek was warm and moved gently, the thumb brushing lightly over Martin’s cheekbones, and he finally gave up on words and leaned into the touch, allowing himself that comfort.

“Martin.” Jon’s voice was soft and low, drawing Martin’s eyes to his own with a compulsion that had nothing to do with any ancient fear gods. His expression was still gentle, but serious, and he met Martin’s look levelly. “You’re not a burden. You don’t have to look after the people around you to be loved. You don’t have to earn it.”

His gaze blurred and his breath hitched, but he didn’t fully understand that he was crying until Jon’s thumb swept across his cheek with a little more purpose and came away wet.

“I know you want to help Martin, but please, just this once, let me look after you.” And god, those words filled him up in a way he could never have imagined, all the words that he’d been waiting his whole life to hear, always caring for other people, always, always-

Jon leaned down and wrapped his arms around him. Martin tried to pull back of course, what if Jon got sick too? Then they’d really be in trouble. Jon didn’t seem to care though, muttered something about it being worth it even if he did, and as he held Martin close Martin felt like he could stay there forever.

They hadn’t stayed there forever of course. Eventually, long after the last of Martin’s tears had dried, he had to pull away to have a short coughing fit as Jon made sympathetic noises and rubbed his back. After that, Jon had kissed him on the forehead and told him he was going to make them both a nice cup of tea, and asked if he wanted honey in his. For once, Martin’s instincts weren’t screaming at him to tell Jon not to trouble himself, or to go make his own tea, or turn down the simple kindness of some extra honey for his throat. Instead, he smiled, thanked him and settled properly into his nest of blankets. Maybe, just this once, he could let someone else take care of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Jon did, of course end up getting sick and refused to admit it because "I'm not human how can I be sick" and Martin trying to return the favour and take care of him was about as easy as trying to get a cat to swallow a pill


End file.
